Left For Dead
by Hjstreet
Summary: After the outbreak of the Seabury Virus, Alexander Hamilton is left to survive for as long as he can, with the help of some familiar faces... Rated M for violent zombie slaying, and swearing
1. Chapter 1

"Holy shit!"

Alexander ducked as a baseball bat narrowly avoided contact with his skull, before colliding with the face of a half-decomposed woman.

"You ought to thank me for saving your sorry ass from being on the menu for tonight's feast!"

"Well, you could of at least warned me!"

"Fuck off Hamilton! Maybe next time I'll let you get devoured by the undead masses!"

If someone told Thomas Jefferson that he'd be in the middle of a street in the Heights, surrounded by a horde of teeth-gnashing zombies, with only a baseball bat, a pistol and a short, angry Caribbean man with a filthy mouth, then he'd have just laughed at them in the face. Heck, he would have told them to write a book about it, as it sounds like the great basis of a comedy. But, there he was. And the gremlin just wouldn't shut up.

"You wouldn't dare," Alexander said, raising his rifle and picking off a few of the closer zombies that shuffled up, "My aim is too good. Not to mention that you'd get bored after a while, being by yourself." Almost as if to prove a point, he fired another shot, which managed to kill off about four zombies at once with just the one bullet.

Thomas rolled his eyes, and muttered under his breath, "Just get to The Winchester Cafe, have a cup of coffee, and wait for all this to blow over..."

20th October 2017

"There are claims that a new disease, known as the Seabury Virus, named after the doctor who discovered it, has potentially been used in biochemical warfare by the UK military with considerable success, and there are talks of bringing the weapon into our own military tactics..."

Alexander wasn't paying all that much attention to the television. He took another swig of coffee, and looked at the screen of his laptop, where the latest draft of an essay about financial reform was halfway written. His debt plan would be the answer to the whole of the economy's problems, so it had to be perfect. He gave what he'd already written a quick glance, before continuing to type out his thoughts as quickly as they came to him.

"Why do you write like you're running out of time?"

"John..." Alexander looked over his laptop at his partner, noticing the dark rings under his hazel eyes, his curly hair pulled back into a messy bun. John worked in a military lab, specialising in biology and its uses in warfare, and lately he'd not been home all that much, leaving before even insomniac Alexander woke up, and getting home when Alexander was found passed out on his desk after an all night writing session. Alexander didn't like the fact that John was working himself so hard.

"Come back to bed, that would be enough..." John said, wrapping his arms around Alexander's waist, "It's a rare Saturday that we both have off of work, and I thought that we could spend some quality time together..." he gave Alexander a peck on the lips, and a coy wink, before releasing his arms and sauntering back to the bedroom, swaying his hips. He looked back at Alexander, and smiled, Alexander felt that when John smiled, that he'd fall apart, despite being so smart. "I wish, my dear Hamilton, that I may show you in actions rather than in words that I love you..."

"You seriously can't keep it in your pants, can you?" Alexander sighed, as he saved his work and closed the lid of his laptop. John gasped, and feigned innocence, before Alexander got up, and practically chased him into the bedroom, laughing at the other man's silliness, despite everything.

"Phew, that was a close one!"

They'd finally made it to the bodega, one of the last ones that hadn't either already been ransacked by survivors or overwhelmed with the undead. It was locked, probably as a precaution in case somehow the whole nightmare was reversed and the owners could return. Thomas raised his bat to smash the door, but Alexander stopped him. "Do you honestly want to be eaten alive Jefferson?"

"Do you want to starve to death, Hamilton? Unless you have a better way of getting in there?" Thomas lowered his bat. If he was in any other situation, then he'd have argued back, refused to let some short, smart-ass tell him how best to survive. But they'd managed between them to stay alive up to this point, which was more than they would have done if they hadn't reluctantly teamed up. Besides, he didn't really have the energy to fight Alexander, not after fending off that horde. He looked at Alexander, exasperated. "So, any ideas?"

Alexander had slipped his backpack off his shoulders, and was rummaging through it, muttering under his breath. Thomas noticed that he did this when he was in thought, putting a plan together or really pissed off. Occasionally all three. Eventually, Alexander found what he was looking for, a few hair pins.

"I don't think now is the time to fix your hair, Hamilton," Thomas sneered.

"I'm not doing anything with my hair, you twat," Alexander snapped, "Haven't you ever had to pick a lock before?"

"If you'd have just let me break in, we'd already have food and water by now."

"If I had," Alexander sighed, "You may have alerted any zombies that might happen to be behind this door, or hidden around this building to our presence, and that's the last thing we need, I only have one magazine left here," he patted his rifle, "and I cannot just throw away my shot."

Alexander made short work of the lock, which clicked open effortlessly. Even Thomas was impressed, as the two men crept in.


	2. Chapter 2

"Woah!"

Thomas glanced around, and whistled, the sound echoing off the walls. Alexander glared at him, furious at the frivolous noise. He always seemed to be watching his back, Thomas thought, as if a vicious zombie was going to leap out from around the corner like a cheap horror movie. There was a reason that Thomas was so impressed. Alexander hadn't been kidding when he'd said that this bodega was so very well stocked, there were packets of dried food, pasta, rice, as well as cans of soup and baked beans, jars of sauces. It was a gold mine of food.

Thomas' mouth watered when he saw the cans of pre-made macaroni cheese. Before everything, he would have never dreamed of sinking as low as cheap, fake tasting gloop that masqueraded as macaroni cheese, but these were desperate times, and he needed something more than the brown, sludgy ration packs that he'd stolen from the bergans of soldiers that hadn't quite survived the initial surge of the plague.

"Are you just going to stand there gawking, or will you actually start collecting supplies?" Alexander whispered, as he quickly shoved a whole shelf of first-aid supplies into his backpack, "Seriously, your rich-kid is showing right now!"

"I was just trying to figure out what to grab without weighing me down," Thomas said, picking up a can of macaroni cheese, "Your douchebaggery is totally showing up!"

Alexander opened his mouth in order to snap back at him, but suddenly closed it. His eyes widened, his face filling with anxiety as he stared towards the back of the store.

Thomas looked in the direction of Alexander's stare.

"Fuck..."

A young man, tall and thin, with a moan on his lips, was ambling towards them. The tell-tale footsteps seemed so loud. Thomas' heart was in his mouth, he could taste the metallic flavour of life. Alexander nodded to Thomas with a knowing look. Thomas swallowed, and raised his baseball bat, and carefully crept up to the zombie, before slamming it right onto the zombie's head, leaving a massive dent in its skull, and brains splattering all across the store. Thomas wiped the gore out of his eyes.

"Did you find any baby wipes or toilet paper?"

"Nah, I heard that zombie brains are great at keeping your skin nice and healthy," Alexander replied sweetly, stuffing as much food as he could into his already bulging backpack.

Thomas picked up the macaroni cheese, and packed it into his bag. Would be a moral booster, he thought, as he picked up several more cans of the stuff and started shoving.

If only his old colleagues could see him now...

25th October 2017

"I don't care, just have it on my desk by the end of the day..."

Thomas sighed, and slammed the phone down. Being an editor at a major political magazine was exhausting, especially when your journalists suddenly all claim to be too ill to come into work and the latest issue needed to be at the printing press yesterday. The phone rang again, Thomas picked it up, and yelled "Seriously, if you're calling in sick, then save your breath!"

"No, I'm not sick! Have you read the draft of my essay yet?"

Thomas groaned. He didn't need this right now. "Hamilton, it's the biggest crock of shit I've ever read, and doesn't suit the stance of the magazine, not in the slightest. Seriously, I should have fired your ass a long time ago..."

"You haven't even read it, have you, Jefferson?" Thomas cringed whilst the other man chuckled at the other end of the phone. He seemed to sound more strained than usual, that he was exhausted. Usually he was able to hide the fact that he lived off of nothing but black coffee and his words, but today there was something off. He heard a throaty, mucusy cough in the background, and a quiet gasp. "Save me the sob story about keeping the Trump administration on our side for funding, I gotta go, I'll be in tomorrow morning..." The line suddenly went dead.

Thomas suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. The news had talked about some explosion from a military base, one that wasn't supposed to happen. He'd heard that cough from several of his colleagues who'd called in sick. It literally sounded like the wheeze of death. Like... People in movies that are slowly turning into zombies...

He hoped that wherever he was, that Alexander would be alright.

Alexander had opened a can of baked beans, and was cooking them up over a bunson burner in a jerry can. The base that the two men had built was inside an abandoned high school, it was central, and meant that they had easy access to the nearby shops and houses that had also been abandoned. The library was also another distinct advantage, as was the abundant supply of stationary in the classrooms. Alexander and Thomas had picked two separate classrooms as their sleeping quarters, but not too far away from each other, so that they would be able to fight back if the school was to be attacked. They had to tolerate each other on the field when there was safety in numbers, but at base, they would only share their rations together, before sloping off to do their own thing. It felt very lonely, but it was better than surviving completely alone.

"You did good out there, Jefferson," Alexander said, dumping half of the contents of the jerry can onto a paper plate, and handing it over to Thomas, "We might make a man out of you yet."

"You can talk, gremlin," Thomas replied haughtily, as he accepted the portion of food. He blew over the food so it wouldn't burn his mouth, before scooping up some with a spoon and shovelling it in his face, trying to look as manly as he could, "You look about nineteen years old!"

"I'm 27, you dickhead," Alexander said, between mouthfuls of beans, "Closer to thirty than twenty, John used to say..." he suddenly got very quiet. If he mentioned or thought of this John, he became very reflective, almost mournful. Thomas wondered who this John was, that he was able to silence the gobshite that was Alexander Hamilton. He'd never bothered asking, even though a few months had passed since Thomas and Alexander teamed up in order to survive. Until now.

"You mention him a lot, Hamilton, is he your boyfriend or something?"

Alexander looked like he'd been poked with a tazer, and glared at Thomas. Were those... Tears?

"Was, Jefferson. Was..."

26th October 2017

John had somehow caught a terrible flu from something, or someone in the lab, and had spent a few days coughing up thick, yellow mucus, tinged with blood, from what Alexander assumed was the irritation of so much coughing. But despite Alexander begging John to let him take him to the hospital to be looked over, John refused, said that he was forbidden by contract to seek any help for anything he though that he might have contracted whilst at work.

"John? Are you alright?"

Alexander opened the bedroom door, clutching a mug of steaming lemsip.

"Uuuuuuuurrrrrrggggggg..."

John looked up, his freckled face pale, yet... slightly decomposed looking. His eyes were bloodshot, and looked like they'd sunk into the back of his head. He got up, and fell out of the bed, still moaning and wheezing.

Alexander dropped the mug, which smashed onto the laminate floor into hundreds of pieces, boiling liquid splashing up his leg. Yet he didn't make a sound, or really feel the scalding pain.

He'd heard stories of people getting suddenly ill, and then turning murderous, killing people, whilst being seemingly braindead in the process. Like a... zombie. He'd laughed at these reports, calling it ridiculous, whilst John looked grave. Was it something to do with what he was doing in the lab at work? He'd been saying something about a biochemical use for a new disease, but he'd been so fixated on his debt plan essay that he hadn't been really listening. No, not his dearest Laurens...

"Hurrrrggggggggggg... Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaiiii"

Alexander suddenly realised what he had to do.

He turned and ran towards his study. Breathing deeply, he rummaged in one of the drawers in his desk, before picking up his Glock, and a magazine. He'd always had it in case of intruders, or shady characters since John worked in very classified situations. Besides, what good was a soldier without a weapon? The gun felt heavy, ice cold in his hand. He took a breath, and loaded the gun, clicking back the safety. Tears began to stream from his face, as he walked towards the bedroom he and John had shared for the past five years.

All the fights, the debates, the kisses, the nights of passion, everything kicked him in the gut all at once. There were a million things that they hadn't done yet... And now they never could.

Look him in the eye, aim no higher, summon all the courage you require, and count...

One...

John looked up as he kept crawling forward. He almost looked like John still, even though he wasn't all there any more.

Two...

John opened his mouth, trying to say something, guttering in the back of his throat, "AAAAAAAAlllllllllllllll..."

Three...

Alexander felt the tears cascade down his cheeks, faster and faster, all the things he could never say beginning to weigh him down.

Four...

John paused, the last amount of humanity leaving his eyes. No longer were they hazel. His freckles had also gone.

Five...

Alexander struggled to keep his gun trained on John... no, the zombie's head.

Six...

The only way to kill a zombie is to destroy the brain, or remove its head. That's what the movies say.

Seven...

Alexander's world was crumbling around him. He was alone, had nowhere else to turn. He had to do this... for Him.

Eight...

Alexander let out a loud sob, telling John how much he loved him, that he'd run out of time.

Nine...

Alexander pulled the trigger.

TEN!

The gunshot rang through the tiny apartment. The zombie was still.

Alexander threw the gun away, as if it was suddenly scalding hot. He looked over at the corpse of the man he loved.

Except that it wasn't John anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a week or so since they had last left their base. They'd found the local high school, one of the last non-zombified larger buildings that still had power and space, to be a most suitable place to live. The library and abandoned lockers were a bonus, provided that you enjoyed books, and were able to pick locks if you could be bothered. It also helped that Alexander and Thomas could have separate sleeping quarters in different classrooms in a corridor, which, looking at the faded posters, was probably the history corridor, as the two men struggled to spend all of their waking hours together.

Thomas found himself wandering down one of the school corridors alone. After the last supply run at the bodega, Alexander had insisted on being left alone in his classroom. He only left to use the bathroom or to share food, which worried Thomas. He realised that although the Caribbean was one of the most irritating people he had ever had the misfortune to find himself with, he found the man's silence harder to deal with. Curiosity may not kill the cat, but it could well silence it, Thomas thought bitterly, whilst examining the lockers that lined the walls, hoping that some wouldn't be locked, that there might be something, anything, hidden in them that could be of any use to them now.

There was a locker, right on the corner, with the door slightly ajar. Thomas grinned to himself, as he sauntered over, and opened it wide. There had better be some good shit in here, he thought to himself.

The locker wasn't particularly full, there was a small pile of DVDs and books lying on the bottom, and another pile on the shelf, with a small backpack sat on top of the bottom pile. Thomas picked up the backpack and opened it. There was a worn old teddy bear wearing a dress and bonnet that Thomas just threw to one side, along with a flannel pyjama set with emojis on it, and a bra and a pair of knickers. Then, he came across the bottle of dessert wine, and a packet of Twinkies. He wasn't sure about why this combination was in a high school student's backpack, but he decided that he'd take them anyway. He put them in his own backpack, and carried on rummaging through the locker.

The books were all by Jane Austen, or about her. This kid was either a massive dork, or was trying to get a literature scholarship to college. The DVDs were pretty similar, BBC adaptations of the Austen novels, mostly. That was when he noticed the printed-out photograph of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy taped onto the back of the locker door, covered in doodled love hearts, and 'DARCY 4EVA" written on it in block capitals. There was also an inspirational quote-style poster, with 'Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love', taped underneath the crude Darcy image. Thomas groaned, and slammed the locker door, which in an act of defiance, refused to close.

Thomas shrugged, and decided to walk back towards the classroom where he had made his home. What he didn't count on was that Alexander at that moment had decided to come around the corner, probably to go on a locker scavenge. He looked even more dishevelled than usual. His eyes had the usual dark rings underneath them, but they looked redder and puffier than usual? Had he been crying?

"Nice to see you finally make a proper appearance, Hamilton!" Thomas exclaimed mockingly.

"Fuck off," Alexander snapped, "I'm checking for unlocked lockers, if you must know."

"You might as well turn back to your cesspit, for I have the booty already, and I don't necessarily intend to share my god fortune, unless you ask _extra nicely_ ," Thomas said, bringing out the wine and Twinkies to show off, "And I really do mean nicely, with no insults or swearing involved!"

Alexander actually looked impressed. "You found that in a locker? In a high school?"

Thomas shrugged, "Yeah, a kid was all packed for a girly sleepover, such a shame for her really," he unscrewed the lid, and took a swig, the sickly sweetness trickling down his dry throat, the alcohol kicking him in the stomach.

Alexander tried to snatch the bottle off of Thomas, clearly desperate for a sip himself, after all, alcohol for consumption was a rarity during these troubled times, and he needed in on the action. But Thomas just laughed, and raised his arm so that the bottle was completely out of Alexander's reach. Alexander swore under his breath, there were huge downsides to being as short as he was, and Thomas' teasing was one of them. He lunged and jumped up, clawing at Thomas furiously, whilst Thomas simply laughed. Alexander fell over, much to Thomas' amusement, falling into the opened locker. His head banged on the shelf, causing it to collapse, dropping the books onto Alexander's head, clattering around him. Thomas lost it there and then, clutching his sides as he burst out into louder peals of hysterical laughter.

Alexander felt hot, angry tears once again prick his eyes, but he blinked them away. He didn't want to give Thomas the satisfaction of such a reaction from him. He went to get up, and brush himself off, until he saw the green hardback book that was sat in his lap, _Persuasion_ by Jane Austen. The page that was bookmarked and highlighted was the fateful letter from Captain Wentworth to Anne Elliot…

 _You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever…_

Now, Alexander couldn't stop the tears, no matter how hard he tried.

30th October 2012

"Budge up, Alex!"

John had brought in the freshly made popcorn, and wedged himself onto the tiny sofa next to Alexander. It was movie night, and Alexander had been able to choose the film. John saw the DVD menu on the screen, and raised an eyebrow. "BBC's _Pride and Prejudice_? I didn't take you for a Janeite, Lexi!"

Alexander smirked, and said, "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."

John laughed. "You could say that again," he said, kissing Alexander on the forehead, "She is a genius. Shame you picked the most obvious of Austen's work tonight," he added, before pressing play, and shovelling a mouthful of buttered popcorn into his mouth.

Alexander crinkled his nose in disgust at John's manners, and said "I'm allowed to be in the majority occasionally, John. Besides, there is a reason for _Pride and Prejudice_ being the most popular and enduring of Jane's works, the relevance to today's society that is reflected in the story, that status and money is still more important in the eyes of our elders when it comes to a suitable life partner, that first impressions are by far the most important, yet that they can be flawed, and we mustn't judge the characters of others based on how we initially perceive them…"

John looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned, "Maybe Jane is trying to tell you something in regard to Jefferson, that he might be better than you think…"

Alexander grabbed a cushion, and threw it at John's head, but he squealed and ducked, the cushion hitting the wall with a dull thud. John laughed, and kissed him tenderly on the lips, calming Alexander greatly.

"I personally think _Persuasion_ is by far the finest of all of Jane's novels," John said, licking melted butter off of his fingers, "It's the one that I turn to when I need reassurance, that I'm not fucking up my chance at happiness…"

Alexander cupped his hands around John's face, and kissed the freckles scattered on the bridge of his nose. "You'll never fuck this up, John. We're practically Darcy and Lizzie, except without all the squabbling."

John giggled, and pecked him on the nose. "Nah, that's you and Jefferson. I'd say we're more Catherine and Tilney, or Fanny and Edmund."

"I do _not_ appreciate the sentiment of being _anything_ like _Mansfield Park!_ "

12 November 2012

A few days after the movie night, Alexander caught the flu, badly. John had insisted on tucking him up in bed, and taking time off work to nurse him back to health. Alexander had protested, complaining that he had a deadline for his latest essay on the Federalist Papers for the magazine, and that Jefferson wouldn't take too kindly if he asked for an extension because of a trifling cold. He croaked his annoyance as John picked him up and carried him back to bed (damn being short and light, he'd thought to himself, it made him helpless in times such as these).

He felt disgusting, surrounded by snotty tissues and cough sweet wrappers. John came in with mugs of lemsip or honey and lemon, bowls of chicken soup and words of love and affection. That he wasn't a failure because he was sick, he worked himself to the bone, which made him more susceptible to falling ill, he needed to rest up so he'd be able to write better than ever before. Despite John's best attempts to make him rest, Alexander was frantically scribbling short stories into a notebook that he had on his bedside table. He just didn't feel comfortable with not being able to put pen to paper.

John sighed, as he came back home from the shops. He packed away the groceries, before putting the kettle on to make yet another lemsip for his sick boyfriend. He then went over to a paper carrier bag, and brought out the book he had bought for Alexander. It was a copy of _Persuasion_ , Alexander had admitted to never reading it, which shocked John. A novel about second chances, redemption and probably the most tender of all of Austen's novels, perfect for an immigrant looking for a new, better life.

"Hey, Alex…" John said, walking into the bedroom with the lemsip and book, "I've just got back from the shops," he looked at the notebook and pen in Alexander's lap, and sighed, "I can't leave you alone for a moment!"

Alexander chuckled slightly, and smiled weakly at John. He took the steaming mug gratefully, blew over it to cool it, and took a swig. John sat on the bed, and picked up the notebook, closing it gently and placing it on the bedside table.

"I got you something whilst I was out, Lexi," John said gently, placing _Persuasion_ into Alexander's lap, "Maybe you can give this a go whilst on bedrest…"

Alexander carefully picked up the hardback book, caressing the green cover carefully. He traced his finger over the gold letters embossed on the front, smiling. Only John would be sappy enough to buy him a get well soon present.

He'd often joked that people should buy their lovers books instead of flowers and chocolates, John must have taken this to heart.

John leaned over, and whispered, "You pierce my soul, I am half agony, half hope…"

5th November 2017

Alexander had been alone now for a couple of long, exhausting weeks. After John's death, he'd stayed in the apartment, hold out for as long as there was access to water and power, and food to sustain him. However, the apartment block was becoming overwhelmed by the hordes of zombies that now seemed to fill Manhattan.

Alexander grabbed his largest backpack, and started to frantically shovel food, bottles of water, warm clothing and first aid supplies. He even managed to fit in the bottle of whiskey he had purchased to celebrate post-proposal with John, the proposal that was never to be. Besides, it would make good disinfectant.

He turned to the bookcase, ready to grab the first books he could get his hands on. If he was to be out and alone in the world, ravaged by the undead, he needed his old friends to keep him sane. As he pulled books off of the shelves, deciding in split seconds which ones to take and which ones to leave, the front door burst open. The unmistakable stench of death filled his nose and made his eyes water. The book in his hand was _Persuasion_ …

A zombie had crawled up to him, causing Alexander to cry out in fury, and bash its skull in with the book, tears streaming down his face as the book was soaked in brains, ruined. It was almost as if John was saving his life, one last time. He had no time, the apartment was overrun by the undead. He dropped the book, a sob gasping from his chest as he grabbed his Glock, and climbed out of the window to the fire escape, and away from his old life, his life with John…

"Hamilton?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jefferson!"

Thomas stood in silence, watching the short man sob, his hair half out of its ponytail, covering his face as he sobbed, sat inside a high-school girl's locker. He was clutching a green, hardback book tight against his chest, as if it was keeping him alive at all costs. Thomas felt tears prick up in his own eyes. He hated seeing people cry, even if they were people he hated…

But, did he hate him? Had he ever hated him? Sure, he had been an annoying little bugger, but he was intelligent, witty, well read…

And now he was a shell of himself, only acting alive when fighting the hordes of zombies. It was like he fought his own personal war, not just surviving. It hurt Thomas so much to see Alexander suffer. He couldn't stand and watch any more. He walked over to Alexander, and prised the book out of his fingers.

"GIVE THAT BACK, YOU BASTARD!"

Alexander jumped out of the locker, snarling with anger, as he tried to snatch the book out of Thomas' hand.

Thomas looked at the front cover. _Persuasion_ , by Jane Austen.

Thomas handed the book back to Alexander, who clutched it to his chest, breathing heavily, clearly trying very hard to stop the tears falling down his cheeks. Not that he was trying to wipe them away.

"I didn't take you for a Janeite," Thomas said, "Besides, _Emma_ is a far better novel, in my opinion," Thomas rummaged in the locker, and brought out the DVD boxset of all the Austen adaptations from the BBC, "We can sit in my room, I found a TV with a DVD player, we can drink wine, eat Twinkies and watch as much Austen as we can stand. What do you think, Hamilton?"

Alexander looked up at him, shocked. Was Thomas… Being friendly? Amiable? Not to pass up on the offer of alcohol and Twinkies, he nodded.

Thomas lead the way, and Alexander trailed behind, hugging the book to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Alexander had never actually been inside the classroom that Thomas had claimed as his sleeping quarters before. The desks and chairs had mostly been hacked apart for use as firewood, apart from the teacher's desk, which was covered in scattered notebooks and stationary. There was a very old television sat on top of it, connected to a DVD player that had seen better days. The floor had been cleared, so there was room for a mattress and some bedding that had somehow been taken from one of the houses near the school, with a pile of books from the school library sat next to it. At the side of the makeshift bed, there was Thomas' trusty baseball bat, a flashlight and a revolver. A bedside lamp glowed gently near the sleeping area, propped on top of the book pile. Typical Jefferson to have figured out how to get things to make a makeshift bedroom, Alexander thought to himself grumpily.

Thomas patted the end of the mattress, inviting Alexander to sit down. Alexander plonked himself down with a huff, glancing around at the tidiness of the room. Thomas laughed awkwardly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He felt shy? Around the most annoying little gremlin of a man? He had to be kidding.

Thomas started to fiddle with the television, which flickered into life. Alexander noticed that the DVD player's power button was missing, and had glittery Barbie stickers plastered all over it. He assumed that this was almost certainly something that Thomas had taken from a supply run. How he found everything, he didn't know. But the fact that it was shiny didn't surprise Alexander, if anything, this was very much in keeping with Thomas' character, flashy. He was like a magpie even before the virus had taken over the US, always after the shiniest, prettiest gadgets and trinkets. Thomas slapped the top of the DVD player, which whirred, and spat out the disk holder.

"Which one first then? Pride and Prejudice, or Sense and Sensibility?" Thomas asked.

"Uh, l guess we can go in chronological order, as far as publication dates go," Alexander replied, "So it'll have to be Sense and Sensibility first, then Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger Abbey and finally, the best of all, Persuasion…"

Thomas sighed, "Emma is better," he said, "It's by far the best comedy of errors, and it inspired one of the best movies of the 90's, Clueless!"

"Why does it not surprise me that Clueless would be a favourite of yours, Jefferson?"

"Bite me," Thomas snapped, as he slotted the DVD into the machine.

"And turn into something worse than a zombie? I'll pass on that one, thanks," Alexander replied, "Pass us a Twinkie, will you? I'm freaking starving!"

Thomas groaned, "Manners maketh man," he said, throwing a Twinkie at Alexander's face. It smacked Alexander in the eye, causing him to yelp indignantly. He unwrapped the Twinkie and took a bite. It was slightly stale, but it was so sickly sweet that he didn't care. His tongue ached with the amount of sugar blasting his taste buds, and he moaned with pleasure.

"Didn't think you had a Twinkie fetish, Hamilton," Thomas exclaimed, raising an eyebrow, "The sounds coming from you are obscene to say the least!"

"Fuck you," Alexander said, "This is probably the best thing ever. Other than Alan Rickman in this movie…" Thomas nodded in agreement, which surprised Alexander.

"That man was taken from us far too soon. Hugh Grant is rather overrated, especially in this," Thomas said, pressing play, and grabbing two mugs from a drawer in the desk. He poured a good slug into each one, before bringing them and the Twinkies over to Alexander, and seating himself. He handed Alexander a mug, which had a picture of Jane Austen wearing sunshades and a party hat printed on it. Alexander chuckled at it, before taking a swig.

"This is dessert wine, Hamilton, it's for sipping!"

"At any other time, sure, but not in dire times as these. Any alcohol will be treated as thus, regardless of quality," Alexander smirked, taking another gulp.

"Uncultured heathen."

"Snooty asshole."

They hadn't noticed how close they were sat next to each other as the movie progressed. Thomas hadn't watched Sense and Sensibility for a while. He'd always preferred Emma, but he did like this novel too, it reminded him that even if you like someone who doesn't necessarily like you back at first, you can still have a happy ending. He realised that Alexander had leaned his head against his shoulder, and it sent a shudder up Thomas' spine.

He couldn't recount the moment that he had fallen for Alexander Hamilton, for when he was in the middle, he couldn't put his finger on the beginning. He just kept up the façade of nemesis just so that he could have conversations with the handsome Caribbean man that were intelligent and stimulating, as screwed up as that was. Thomas certainly wasn't a Colonel Brandon, but Alexander was such a Marianne that it pained him. Alexander, romantic, emotional, passionate about what he stood for, and loyal to both friends and enemies until the bitter end. The man wore his heart on his sleeve, always had done, even though he didn't like to admit it. Thomas found this incredibly attractive, there was no doubt about that.

Did he make a move now?

He didn't fancy the rejection, not right now. Besides, wasn't putting his own emotions ahead of Alexander's a bit of a dick move? He was clearly still grieving for this 'John'. He wanted to ask Alexander more about him, but after the events of the evening, he was lucky that Alexander was sat with him now, drinking wine and complaining when Marianne was still swooning over Mr. Willoughby. Thomas sighed, and chugged the last of the wine in his mug, and poured out another mugful, before topping up Alexander's.

Alexander looked up at Thomas. He looked sadder than usual. His eyes, dark, were fogged over with something that Alexander couldn't quite put his finger on. He thought that Thomas' eyes were expressive, intelligent. They brightened up any room he walked into back in the times before the plague, they always seemed to have a laugh behind them. Then again, Thomas was a very expressive person, especially in debate. His eyes would shine, and his hands would dance as he made his points. Only Thomas had the ability to outshine Alexander in debate, even though he didn't like to admit it. Oh, how things had changed. Thomas had lost his fire, his comebacks and insults were mediocre, at best. He didn't really try to survive, except when push really came to shove. Like Thomas didn't necessarily want to survive. There was something unsaid in Thomas, Alexander could sense it, but he wasn't quite sure whether to confront him or not about it. Maybe the timing wasn't quite right.

Sure, he'd always found Thomas attractive. He was a very handsome man, nobody could refute it. Even though they never really agreed politically, the two men could work together to create amazing articles and essays that were the talk of the political world. John had often said that he and Thomas would be the perfect match for each other if John wasn't around, and had often teased him about it. Heck, he'd even given his blessing once…

22nd October 2017

"I recon he likes you Alex."

"What on earth could you mean by that?"

"Remember the Halloween party?" John coughed, putrid smelling mucus landing in the tissue Alexander had handed to him.

Alexander laughed, "How could I? Jefferson looked ridiculous!"

"I love that is what you recall," John coughed, "I seem to recall a lot more than just his costume…"

15th October 2017

The brief, strange conversation between himself and Thomas at the office Halloween Party.

Thomas had come dressed as the crab from the movie Moana, wearing a purple suit, and a cardboard shell covered in tin foil and shiny objects glued onto it. He'd even started bellowing the song 'Shiny' after a few drinks. Alexander had dressed as a 'crap Dalek', which consisted of his usual jeans, a white t-shirt with 'dalek' written on the front and back in scrawled writing, a bucket with two lightbulbs glued on the top and an eyehole cut out, and he was holding a plunger and a whisk. John had dressed as the Twelfth Doctor, whilst Lafayette had gone for a French noblewoman look from the 18th century.

The party was crazy, with apple bobbing, doughnuts tied to strings. Even the punch had fake eyeballs and plastic bugs floating around in it. The office itself was decked in cobwebs and plastic body parts, even fake blood splattered on the walls. A group of interns had all dressed up as zombies, and were on the dancefloor dancing to Thriller, flash mob style. It was impressive.

Thomas had gotten bored, and decided to start a debate with his rival. Afterall, what was a party without passion, he thought to himself, as he sidled up to Alexander, who was all by himself, which was unusual.

They'd been discussing board games, and weirdly were agreeing with each other. They'd been standing rather close, Alexander could smell the alcohol on his breath. Then, without warning, Thomas had lifted Alexander's bucket up so his mouth was visible, then planted a kiss directly onto them. Alexander yelped, but didn't… no, couldn't pull away. There was just something about Thomas that had Alexander guiltily wanting more. He stood there, rooted to the spot and unable to move. John and Lafayette somehow materialised and pulled the two men apart, Lafayette looking red in the face, and John looking deathly pale.

Alexander had tried, in all his shock, to explain that the kiss wasn't anything, that it was a drunken mistake on Thomas' part, and anxiety on his, but John simply stared at him, and walked away, coughing like he'd been smoking 40 cigarettes a day for the past 28 years.

"Qu'est ce qui etait dans l'eufer?" Lafayette bellowed, slapping Alexander around the face, "Seriously, you go on about hating Thomas, mon ami, then you let him kiss you?"

Alexander shrunk back, blinking back tears, words stuck in his throat.

"Putain Bete, petit lion, que ferons-nous de toi?"

Thomas had watched the whole scene unfold, the sight of his friend slapping Alexander pulled him right back to sobriety, and the moment into razor-sharp focus. He had kissed Alexander. Alexander hadn't pushed him away…

Alexander looked up at Lafayette, his emotions rolling like clothing in a washing machine, and then at Thomas, who looked just as shocked as he did.

"Je sais 'a peine," he said.

22nd October 2017

"Ah."

"I forgave you, dumbass," John sighed, and kissed Alexander on the forehead. Alexander noticed that John refused to kiss him on the lips anymore, which was weird. Even when he'd been sick before, he'd not refrained from kissing him on the lips. Perhaps this was something far more serious. But now was not the time to ask.

"So, what are you saying, Jack?"

"The guy is clearly head over heels with you, you'd have to be a blockhead not to see that," John paused, as another fit of hacking coughs racked through his body, before adding, "If anything were to happen to me, I wouldn't be mad if you hooked up with Jefferson."

"What the actual fuck, Laurens?" Alexander exclaimed, throwing the box of Kleenex at John, "You're just ill, not dying, and besides, I wouldn't just hop into bed with Jefferson, do you have any respect in me at all?"

Laurens took out a tissue, and spat out more mucus, tinged with blood, and raised an eyebrow. "I am saying this because I love and respect you and your needs. You can't be a monk just because I'm six feet under, or worse," his eyes widened, as if he'd said far too much. Alexander simply held him, wondering what was being implied.

Alexander sighed as the credits began to roll. The wine was gone, as were the Twinkies. Thomas had fallen asleep leaning his face against Alexander's head. Alexander carefully manoeuvred himself so that he could get Thomas lying down on the bed, and tucked him into the covers. He felt ridiculous doing this, but it was the very least he could do. He was growing to care more for the silly man. He shut down the television and the DVD player, anxious to preserve as much power as they could do. Thomas looked peaceful as he rested, his chest gently rising and falling as he snored quietly.

Without thinking, Alexander kissed Thomas gently on the forehead, before turning out the light, and tiptoeing away.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas looked outside his window one particularly cold morning, and saw that a blanket of snow lay on the ground. It sparkled in the sunlight, unspoilt and perfectly white. Thomas shuddered, and looked at the very small pile of firewood. There wasn't any more furniture to cut up and use, and he'd run out of matches. He wondered if Alexander had any spare.

He knocked on Alexander's door. It opened to reveal Alexander wrapped in a knitted blanket, and two thinning hoodies, shivering violently. Thomas had to swallow some laughter, as the short man looked like a burrito. "I came over to ask if you had any matches, or spare wood, but I can see you're freezing your ass off too."

Alexander looked up at Thomas, his dark eyes looking concerned. He groaned, clutching the blanket tighter to his body. "Well done, Captain Obvious," he said, "I've always hated winter here. We'll have to go out and look for some suitable winter clothing. The mall is probably a day's walk or so though."

"Hamilton, we are near a strip of abandoned houses. We can always search those first," Jefferson said, "If we have no luck then we can always start trekking to the mall."

Alexander nodded. "I'll get ready to go, I'll meet you in ten minutes."

The two men trudged through the snowy grounds of the school. Alexander wondered if snow was a deterrent for the undead, the freeze in the air must be unbearable to them. They didn't like blistering heat, and stayed away from fire. Surely, they would be the same about the cold. Alexander stayed inside his head whilst he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The New York winters always exhausted him, he was used to the heat of the Caribbean, even though he'd lived in America for twelve years. He shuddered as he realised that his jeans were now sodden with icy sludge from the snow they'd walked through to get to the little street of houses, that had been abandoned as people had either escaped the city, or been overwhelmed by the plague.

The street was silent, apart from the wind that blew through the trees. Thomas gripped his baseball bat tighter, as he looked at the shivering man walking next to him. It wouldn't be long until they got to the first house, and they needed to be ready for anything that could be behind the front door.

They walked up the path of the house, snow crunching underneath their feet. Alexander was already rummaging in his jacket's pocket for his hair pins so he could pick open the lock. They got to the front door, bright yellow. The door knocker was Victorian in style, a brass lion's head. Thomas admired it for a moment whilst Alexander fiddled with the lock, clicking it open. Thomas gave Alexander an impressed look, but Alexander shrugged and stepped inside the house. Thomas gingerly stepped in behind him, shutting the door gently.

"Search all the rooms, and be quick about it," Alexander said, "We don't want to be in here any longer than we ought to be, just grab anything that could be useful and get out of here."

Thomas glared at Alexander, he'd been house raiding for longer than Alexander, and didn't need to be told how to go about doing it. He scowled, and walked into the lounge. The sight that met him was unlike any he had witnessed on the field. There were large trails of dried blood staining the white carpet, and feathers from the cushions scattered across the room. The furniture had human teeth marks on them, and any fabric embellishments were ripped up. Books littered the floor, and smashed glass from the widescreen television crunched under his feet as he started to look for things that would be helpful in keeping them warm over the winter. He found a thick fleece throw that had miraculously stayed clean and untattered and stuffed it into his backpack. There was also a sheepskin rug that he managed to roll up and slot in the side too. Thomas also grabbed a bag of coal that was by the fire place, it would be useful fuel for cooking and heat once the fuel in the science block gave out.

He couldn't help but notice a smashed photo frame that had fallen off the mantelpiece, and he picked it up to have a look. The photograph was of a typical nuclear family, a mother, father, son and daughter with the family dog, a gorgeous German Shepard all grinning cheerfully into the camera. He shuddered, and not because of the cold. The trails of blood… This family wasn't alive, not any more.

Thomas shook the thought out of his mind as he trooped through the rooms, searching carefully and quietly for useful items. There was a hunting gun cabinet that was thankfully unlocked, with some rifles and ammunition, that Thomas managed to get. He loaded one of the rifles and shouldered it, just in case. He also grabbed some of the kitchen knives, before creeping up the stairs to find Alexander, who had decided to search the bathroom and bedroom for supplies.

He found him on the landing, stood still. Thomas followed his gaze.

There, cuddled up to each other, were a family of zombies. What used to be the man snarled at Alexander, and chose this moment to pull away from the rest of the huddle, and shamble forward. Alexander raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the empty house, which caused the other zombies to perk up, and start moving towards Thomas and Alexander. Alexander pulled the trigger again, but this time nothing came out.

"Fuck," he muttered, "I have not come this far, to die now."

"Quit with the dramatics, take this," Thomas said, snatching the empty rifle and handing over the one he'd just loaded to him, "You do what you do best."

As Alexander started to send the zombie family back to hell, Thomas turned to face the stairs. How a horde of zombies managed to get from wherever they were, to this house, and up the stairs was astonishing, and now Thomas no longer had a rifle to shoot them with. The knives were packed away in the backpack, and a baseball bat wasn't quite enough to deal with this many zombies. Alexander turned, his eyes like dark saucers with shock. "I thought you closed the front door, asshole," he hissed, as he pulled Thomas out of the way and opened fire on the horde.

"Well excuse me for not realising that the undead can seemingly travel through solid wood or some shit," Thomas replied, as he dug his hand into his bag and pulled out a meat cleaver, "Maybe the door doesn't lock from the inside or something," he raised the cleaver above his head, bringing it down on the head of an elderly looking zombie with an almighty splatter.

The two men carried on battling their way through the crowds of zombies, shooting and slashing. It didn't help that their bags were laden with supplies, but they needed to have something to show for their efforts.

Suddenly, a crash from the front door smashed through the walls. Several extra gunshots were fired, and voices of two people shouting filled the air amongst the smoke of the guns and the groans of the zombies that were killed. Alexander thought that he recognised them from somewhere, especially the clear voice tinged with an accent…

"Alexander, fancy seeing you here, mon ami!"

Alexander turned, and saw Lafayette, with a pistol in one hand, and a… katana in the other. They were firing shots and swiping the katana through the air effortlessly, blood splattered on their face. He also noticed Hercules, wielding an AK47, firing and batting undead away at the same time. Thomas was chopping limbs and heads off the creatures, his footwork intricate, practically dancing his way out of the house.

Eventually, the four people managed to get out of the house, the last zombie vanquished. They stood outside in the snow, catching their breath.

"It's good to see you two," Alexander said, after a while, "I'm glad you made it, if you two hadn't of been there, I don't think we'd have made it out again…"

Lafayette grinned, and slapped Alexander on the back, "I am glad to see you too, petit lion. Herc and I swung by your apartment, didn't find you or John there and thought the worst…"

Alexander's face dropped. Hercules, who had been checking Thomas for any injuries, looked up, "We thought you were done for, but we swore we'd find you both eventually. Thomas here is a bonus," he grinned at Thomas, "didn't think a rich-kid like you would survive this long, if I'm honest," he said, earning himself a scowl from Thomas, and some muttered obscenities.

"So, where is John anyway?" Lafayette asked, "I'm assuming he's back at wherever you guys have shacked up, he's not really the violent type."

"He… didn't make it," Alexander said quietly, "succumbed to the virus a couple of months before it really kicked off…"

Hercules and Lafayette looked at each other, then at Alexander in disbelief. "He is… gone?" Hercules said, "He can't be, Alex, you're joking, surely?" he shook Alexander by the shoulders, getting more desperate, "It's just your twisted sense of humour, he's gonna come round the corner, laughing, and it'll all be alright! Alexander?"

Thomas shook his head sadly. Lafayette felt tears brimming. "Merde," they said, suddenly feeling slightly faint. They faltered slightly, and Thomas quickly propped them up on his shoulder.

"Herc…" Alexander said, his voice barely above whispering, "I had to pull the trigger on him myself…" he burst into tears at that point. Hercules let go of him, and stood back. He took a hipflask out of his coat pocket, and took a swig, shuddering at whatever spirt inside it hit his throat.

The four people looked at each other. Now that the surviving members of 'the rev set' had been reunited, they knew they couldn't be parted. Thomas couldn't be left alone either, that simply wouldn't be fair.

"Where are you guys camped?" Hercules asked, after a silence that seemed to last ages.

Thomas pointed towards the high school, "There's plenty of space, you could even have a room each. Practically a luxury in these times, right?"

Lafayette looked impressed. "Our last camp, was, how do you say… underwhelmed?" they said.

"I think you mean, 'overwhelmed', Laf," Thomas said, "You two had better come with us, as long as you pull your weight."

Lafayette and Hercules smiled, and nodded their agreement.

"But first," Lafayette said, "We're going to need extra supplies…"

Alexander reloaded his rifle, grinning. "There's at least twenty houses in this area. That'll be plenty."

Thomas wiped the sweat and gore off his face, using the snow to clean it off. "Let's go."


End file.
